


Succedaneum

by Capucine



Series: Consequences of Rebellion [1]
Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Gen, Gentleness, Harm to Children, Imprisonment, Short One Shot, Wrongful Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 02:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7295932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capucine/pseuds/Capucine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Erik Lensherr, the leader of a rebel army in the North, can't be acquired for punishment, his bastard son will do.</p>
<p>Charles Xavier quietly visits the son of his old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Succedaneum

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a weird I did based on some promptish stuff. Hope you like it? *cringes*

The boy was small.

This was the primary thing that Charles picked up on. He was small, with white hair and eyes that darted to take him in. 

He wasn’t the spitting image of Erik, but he had some of him to him. He had obvious relation, and the look in his eyes was one he’d seen in Erik’s, once upon a time. Erik’s eyes had hardened over time, protecting the fear and pain inside, but this boy’s hadn’t yet.

Peter was watching him, brown eyes curious but cautious. The chain connecting his ankles to the wall meant he couldn’t reach Charles, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t observe.

The second Charles’s voice broke the silence, he could see the boy tense up. “How long have you been here?”

Peter’s eyes darted to the wall, like he might find the answer there. Finally, he went with, “Lots of time. I’m doing hard time, you see.”

His answer was flippant, but his voice held an undertone of fear.

And well it should. His father may or may not know of his existence, never having mentioned him to Charles, but that didn’t remove him from danger. As evidenced by the locking up of a child, about eight or nine years of age.

Erik had no claim to any throne—instead, he had the frightful claim to a mob. To people willing and ready to overthrow who they perceived to be a tyrant.

And, to be fair, the king might be a tyrant. That would be a fair assessment, in many ways.

But that didn’t change that raising a mob army in the North was waging a game of destruction, and, better yet, not knowing about a bastard son in the South left something for the King to punish. 

Until the point when he would beat Erik’s mob army, of course. Then, there was Erik, and his child was unimportant. Disposable. Or perhaps used to beat the lesson home into the mob, a cruel end for both Erik and his unknown son.

Charles thought the King was probably banking on too much, expecting Erik to let himself be taken alive after what happened with his wife and child, a girl child, not this one, but one had to allow for a certain amount of stupidity.

Charles leaned in, looking at Peter, whose brown eyes stared back, almost unblinking. It was like he expected the worst, but was ultimately more curious than afraid. Like he was waiting for something to happen. And Charles let out a sigh, knowing there wasn’t a lot he could do as it was.

But for Erik, he would do this.

He wheeled closer, his chair an invention by a very smart colleague of his, and perhaps that was why Peter didn’t instantly fear him—most men were not as imposing sitting down.

“Come here, Peter,” he said gently, like talking to a baby deer.

Peter hesitated, but then, ever so recklessly, came forward. He was almost eye level with Charles. And he was filthy and he stank.

Charles ignored the stench and dipped his cloth into the warm bowl of water he had balanced, and Peter flinched back as he brought the cloth to his face, but Charles steadily continued on.

As the warm rag wiped away the grime, he could see an almost shudder go through Peter, eyes closing for a moment as his muscles relaxed. There was clear relief in his posture, and, almost hesitantly, he leaned into the touch.

It wasn’t that easy of work, and took some maneuvering, but soon enough, Charles had Peter reasonably clean. Then he tucked a bun in his hand, one stuffed of cheese and meat.

Peter ate like an animal that hadn’t seen food for longer than it liked.

He didn’t even ask why, as If afraid the spell would be broken. But Charles could have easily explained.

Your father is a friend of mine. He has the rage and sorrow to power a rebellion.

And, in the back of his mind, he also knew: if Erik won, it would not do to be on the wrong side. He knew this, though he reminded himself that cleaning an imprisoned child was an inherently good thing to do, and Peter would surely remember it even if Erik never heard about it.

He smiled at Peter. “I will see you again.”

Peter looked guardedly hopeful. “Will you bring this again?”

And Charles laughed a little. “Perhaps.”

He left the boy, remembering the phrase uttered by the King when he had been taken. He was to ‘forget he had ever been anything.’

And Charles wasn’t sure if he meant being human, or having what little privilege the boy had had. But one thing he knew: Erik was not going to take it well when he did find out.

**Author's Note:**

> I might make a series out of this. I dunno. I see Charles as a very chess mastermind kinda person.


End file.
